


Leave Her Johnny

by dimerization



Series: What shall we do with a drunken sailor? [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, Bisexual Character, Blended family, Breastfeeding (unsexy), Child Theft, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Horrible horrible trauma!, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kidfic, Multi, Not Beta Read, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Questionable Attempts To Depict Period-Typical Infant Care, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimerization/pseuds/dimerization
Summary: Edward Kenway was, at heart, an optimist. It was perhaps his most fatal flaw. He had truly believed it would all work out somehow, if he was patient, if he bided his time until the right opportunity came knocking.  So long as Edward kept his silence, the Templars would not kill him. Of that he was certain. That meant he had as long as he liked to find a way to escape the Port Royal prisons -- all he had to do was endure until he got his chance.He didn't know they'd arrested Mary and Anne.  He didn't know about the children.  Then Rogers and Torres had him dragged out to a sentencing one day, and everything came crashing down.---This will update when it updates.  I have 3 longfics in progress right now because I have no self control.  Sorry.
Relationships: Anne Bonny/"Calico" Jack Rackham (mentioned), Anne Bonny/James Kidd | Mary Read, Edward Kenway & Anne Bonny, Edward Kenway/James Kidd | Mary Read
Series: What shall we do with a drunken sailor? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183277
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing my best with writing Ade's accent. I hope it turned out ok.
> 
> Btw you might want to read at least chapter 1 of the first piece in this series if you haven't already. It doesn't have any vital plot in it, but it will give you some background on everybody's romantic entanglements.

It was months before it even occurred to Mary that something might be wrong. She and Edward were both constantly on the move, and now that Anne was at sea with her instead of living in Nassau, their connection was even more tenuous. When her blood did not come as expected, she immediately thought of him, but a month or more without seeing him was not unusual, and Edward had left for Jamaica, halfway across the West Indies. After two months, she was impatient, and after three, she was irritated. After four, though, she was downright worried. A visit to Gran Inagua had clinched it. Nothing would do for Jack but to fuck Anne in Edward's bed, which gave Mary plenty of time to resupply and ask around after the lord and master of that poxy cove. No one had seen him since she'd been there last. Between her fretting and the fidgets of her newly-quickened babe, Mary didn't sleep a wink that night.

They had run across the Jackdaw on Crooked Isle a bare few days later, and she had been overjoyed at the sight of those scarlet sails. As Jack was too drunk to object, Mary had brought the ship into port, although they already had plenty of supplies from their stop at Edward's stronghold. He must have been on his way back to Gran Inagua, she thought, and she had just missed him. Mary had worried a great deal about the child at first, about how Edward would react to the news, but she'd been so concerned about his welfare lately that she didn't even pause to consider it as she strode down the pier toward that familiar brigantine.

"Ahoy, the Jackdaw!" she called.

"Cap'n Kidd! As I live an' breathe!" It was Sullivan, Edward's longtime cook and the chattiest man aboard, leaning over the gunwale to wave to her.

"Your captain about, Sully?" Mary asked him, and he waved her aboard, calling for Adéwalé. The quartermaster crossed the deck to clasp her arm in greeting; there was something guarded in his eyes, but when was there not?

"Master Kidd. New ship?" Adé asked, jerking his head at Jack's sloop, docked across the way.

"Aye. How fares the Jackdaw?"

"Well as ever," Adé said.

"Is your captain about?" Mary asked again.

"You're lookin' at him, breddah," Adé told her, impassive. Mary took it for a joke and rolled her eyes.

"Aye, you're your own man, to be sure. Where's Edward? I must speak to 'im."

"Ah," Adé said, his voice oddly heavy. "Come, Kidd."

"What's this about, man?" Mary asked, confused, but she followed Adéwalé into Edward's cabin all the same. The quartermaster shut the door. Edward seemed to have redecorated -- his swords weren't hanging on the wall anymore, and his maps had been taken down. Someone else's boots sat by the bunk. Mary stopped short and crossed her arms.

"What's goin' on?" she demanded. Adé turned to face her, leaning his backside on the table and crossing his arms as well. He was so tall his head nearly brushed the beams of the ceiling.

"Kenway is dead," he said. Mary simply refused to take that at face value.

"What d'you mean? What 'appened?" she snapped.

"He went after Roberts and did not return. I'm sorry, breddah." Adé sounded sincere, but he was far too calm.

"Damn it, Adé! 'Ow long ago was this? Where? Did y'see a body?"

"You don't believe me, Kidd?" Adé demanded, scowling. Mary wanted to shout at him, she wanted to burst into tears, she wanted -- hell. It was the pregnancy, making her emotional. Anne's child made her seasick and miserable of a morning, but Mary would have gladly taken that over the weeps she was saddled with instead. She rubbed a hand over her face, taking a deep breath.

"Please," she said quietly. "Please just tell me."

So he did. They had sailed for Jamaica and made good time, arriving as agreed to meet Roberts in a secluded cove. Edward had gone ashore with the Sage, and the two men had vanished into the jungle. Only Roberts had returned. He'd waved the Jackdaw off with a smug bow and a sweep of his cap, then started loading up his own ship.

"I did not trust dat man. Edward was a fool to go wid him, I t'ink. I t'ought Edward had met his end at last, but some of de men wanted to wait for him. I did not want to fight Roberts, outnumbered as we were, so I took us around de point to wait," Adé said. Some hours later, they'd watched Roberts sail off, and had returned to gather water and spend a night on the beach. By morning, with no sign of Edward, the crew had all agreed with Adéwalé: their former captain was surely dead.

"He dug his own grave wid dat Observatory rubbish," Adé said. "I know he was your bred. I am sorry to be de bearer of bad news, but he is gone."

"But y'never saw a body," Mary said. "'Ow can you be sure -- "

"If he were still alive in dat jungle, he would have found his way down to us by dawn. He is _dead_ , Kidd."

"Per'aps Roberts -- "

"Roberts could not hold him." Adé was utterly certain. It was like arguing with a boulder. Mary licked dry lips.

"Where was the cove?" she asked.

"You mean to search it? Dis was near four mont's ago!"

"Edward might -- "

"Even if I knew, I would not tell you, and I do not know. Edward brought us dere, and he kept de map on him when he went ashore. I could not find de cove again except by luck." Adéwalé was looking at Mary with something far too close to pity in his eyes. She turned away, not wanting to see it. Her throat hurt. Edward was a hard man to kill -- he'd survived far worse than this, surely -- he could -- he might --

Behind her, she heard Adéwalé take a slow step forward. The new captain of the Jackdaw rested one massive hand on Mary's shoulder.

"I have some idea what you lost, sistah," he said quietly. Mary squeezed her eyes shut. So Adé knew, then. She ought to have cared. She couldn't manage it.

"I am sorry," he continued. "Dere was not'ing I could do."

The fury struck like lightning. Mary whirled, knocking Adé's hand away. "Like 'ell there weren't!" she snarled. "You left 'im alone with Roberts -- you left 'im there to _die_ \-- you bastard! You son of a bitch!" She shoved Adéwalé. It was an experience akin to shoving a wall. Mary tried to shove him again and he swept her hands aside, then stepped back, out of her reach.

"What should I have done, eh? Put him in chains? Mutinied? T'rown away half de crew to fight Roberts and his men? Let dat bastard sink de Jackdaw?"

"Edward would 'ave done it all for you and more," Mary said, cold with fury.

"I am not Edward," Adé replied. "I will not t'row away men's lives to save but one from his own folly." Mary ground her teeth. How many times had she called Edward a fool? How many times had she told him the Observatory would only bring him to grief? Hell, four months ago she had begged -- begged! -- him to stay, _begged_ him not to go to the meeting with Roberts, and he had laughed her off like the miserable, selfish bastard he was, and now --

"It is his, isn't it?" Adé nodded meaningfully at her belly. Mary was showing, not so much that she thought it impossible to hide, but she couldn't button her coat across her middle anymore. And Adé had seen that too, just as he'd seen her for what she really was. Mary felt the fury trickling out of her, leaving her empty, hollow, a slack sail with no wind to raise it. She clutched at her anger and it slipped through her fingers all the faster for it. Her shoulders slumped.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked.

"I was looking for it," Adé said. Mary nodded wearily.

"Y'really think 'e's dead, Adé?"

His gaze was level. "Aye."

"S'pose I've no further business 'ere, then," Mary said. She felt so, so tired. She wanted... She didn't know what she wanted. But she needed to not be in Edward's -- in that cabin anymore. Mary turned on her heel, reaching for the door.

"Fair winds and calm seas, Kidd," Adé said behind her.

Mary had to clench her jaw hard for a long moment before she could reply, "Same to you, Captain."

That was some five weeks ago. Three weeks later, the British took Jack's ship. Ten days in the brig, then a hasty trial in Spanish Town in which neither she nor Anne nor Jack were permitted to speak in their own defense, and then it was off to Port Royal for the sentencing. Jack was sentenced in the morning, Mary and Anne in the afternoon. The pregnancies were fortunate, well-timed, if accidental. It seemed Jack was good for one thing, at least: he'd earned Anne a stay of execution. That was Edward's parting gift to Mary as well, she supposed. Gratitude was a bitter taste in her mouth that day.

Mary had made it from the Jackdaw all the way back to Anne on the Kingston before she had started to cry. Anne had tried to convince her that Edward might yet live, but Adé's utter certainty weighed heavy on her. She didn't want to weep over Edward Kenway -- she was furious at him -- but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Those last few weeks, the sea and the thrill of the take had been welcome distractions, until they were taken themselves, of course. She'd tried so hard to ignore the fact that a large part of her had already accepted his death. It was a miracle Edward had lived as long as he did, really, the way he went about things, but Mary was sick over it all the same.

For more than a year he'd been her lover, sharing her with Anne in any stolen moment they could find or contrive to spend together. Edward and Mary were both always on the move, him in pursuit of wealth, her at work for the Assassins. She'd spent so long telling herself it was just a bit of fun. Edward was a friend, a comrade, a constant source of aggravation; they fought nearly every time they saw each other, but she only resented his priorities so fiercely because she respected him so much. Edward was skilled, intelligent, with an intuitive grasp of command, a fine sailor and a better fighter. Between the Sense and his own talent and wit, he was truly formidable, and under his greed and his seeming laziness, there was strength of purpose, passion, dedication. Arrogance was so close to perseverance in him, hedonism to idealism, greed to a clear-eyed grasp of how the world worked. He could have been so much more than he chose to be! It infuriated her, but still she couldn't help but admire him.

Mary had never meant to care for him so. Edward had many women whenever he could, as was a sailor's wont, wife or no wife. Such men were careless with the women they paid to bed; Mary knew it well. But with her and Anne he was warm, attentive, and eager to please; when Mary had him alone, it was like she was the only woman in the world to him. Edward was _beautiful_ , the lean lines of his body, the shape of his hands, those bright blue eyes alight with happiness and longing whenever she took him to bed. His soft lips, that crooked slash of a smile. The feel of his cock inside her. She hadn't meant for it to go like this. She hadn't wanted to yearn for him, had tried so damned hard to deny it, ignore it, even with his child in her she had clung to her anger with him for every stupid decision and petty slight, until she grew so worried that she was forced to admit how dear he was to her. That wretched man! How dare he make her love him? But Mary was powerless to stop it, now. The news of his death had broken her damned heart. She'd believed it, even as she'd hoped with all her might that Adé had been wrong, that someday, she might see Edward again.

Mary got her wish that day in Port Royal. She almost didn't recognize him. This was what it must be like to see a ghost, she thought, watching two red-coated guards marching him into the courtyard in chains. Edward had lost a tremendous amount of weight; his hair was lank and dirty, his cheeks hollow. His skin was mottled with old and new burns in odd patterns, his tattoos half-ruined; it took her a long moment to realize that they'd been caging him on the gibbet, left out all day to scorch in the West Indian sun. The scars were deep; his skin was peeling heavily in places. But those bright blue eyes were still fierce, his gaze still steady, even as he looked at her in shock and horror. Mary had to fight to keep her face impassive. Anne drew a sharp breath beside her and Mary trod on her foot, willing her lover to keep quiet.

Mary's mind raced. Things were falling into place so neatly it was terrifying. Adé had obviously been wrong. Roberts _had_ captured Edward, somehow, and, what, sold him to the English? But Edward was no fool. There was still the pardon, and even he was not so proud as to refuse it in favor of a trip to the gallows, when he might take it and then make his escape. That meant Roberts hadn't sold him to the English, but rather to the Templars themselves. They wanted the Observatory, so they were keeping him here at the prison in Port Royal, torturing him in an attempt to get the information they required. If Edward was still alive, then he had not broken. The question was, why was he at the sentencing? Either the Templars were making a point and meant to force him to watch an execution -- who knew how many hangings he'd attended under their auspices by now -- or, far worse, they knew of his relationship with Mary and Anne, and intended to use them against him. As bargaining chips? Incentive? Did they know she was an Assassin? _Did they know about her child?_

No, of course they didn't -- no one did but Anne, and apparently Adé -- but that was about to change. Mary had to hope the Templars didn't know she and Edward were lovers. If they did, and they deduced the parentage of her unborn babe, she dreaded to think what they would do. If she didn't disclose her pregnancy now, they would hang her, and two lives would be lost. She had no choice but to do as she and Anne had planned. The pompous fellow conducting the sentencing had nattered on while she thought; Mary had no notion what he was saying, not that it mattered. She waited for him to stop for breath, then looked out at the crowd, forcing herself not to search for Edward.

"We're pregnant!" she bellowed. "D'you all 'ear that?"

* * *

Edward Kenway was, at heart, an optimist. It was perhaps his most fatal flaw. He had truly believed it would all work out somehow, if he was patient, if he bided his time until the right opportunity came knocking. He waited for the wound in his gut to heal well enough that he could move relatively freely again, by which time he was well-settled in the prison in Port Royal. The food was bad and the sanitation worse, but there were twelve men crammed into the cell with him. They had hardly enough room to lie down, and plenty of time to get to know each other. Edward had organized a breakout in less than a week. They actually made it out into the yard before the guards rallied. Eight men died in the attempt; two more were executed afterwards. Edward was beaten with a bullwhip for the first time, and discovered it was worse than it looked, which was impressive, because it looked absolutely awful.

They put him alone in a cell after that. Edward missed the company, but at least he didn't have to sleep near the shitter ever again. Once the wounds on his back dried up, though, they started with the gibbet and the stocks. Edward had been in pillory before, and it was wretched, but those gibbetted corpses by the harbor had always filled him with pity and dread in equal measure. That proved to have been the right response. A full day barefoot in one of those metal cages would have been bad enough, nowhere flat to rest his feet, not room enough to sit, hours and hours standing on that sharp metal grille, but the sun was the real torment. Life on the sea prepared a man to handle the sun, Edward had thought. Cloudless skies and reflected glare had darkened and toughened his skin over the years, but a scant few weeks in the windowless lockup had paled him some, and the fresh wounds on his back from the whip weren't helping. His back tattoo had likely been in tatters before they ever put him in the cage, but after the first day, he was fairly sure it had been seared off him entirely. The daytime Warden, whom Edward suspected was a low-level Templar, had interrogated him that evening, demanding the location of the Observatory, drinking a cup of water the entire time. Edward had cursed at him, half-mad with pain and thirst, and had told him nothing. The Warden had left, but a guard had brought Edward water later that night. Things had continued in that vein ever since.

So long as Edward kept his silence, the Templars would not kill him. Of that he was certain. That meant he had as long as he liked to find a way to escape -- all he had to do was endure until an opportunity presented itself. So he held on, dogged and spiteful, absolutely sure that he would get his chance. He would captain his ship again, he would hold Mary in his arms, he would laugh with Anne over a pint, he would taste the salt spray on his face, he would sleep in his own bed and wake to the song of the birds in the jungle. He would drink fine rum and eat good food and pound Adé into a damn pulp for leaving him behind and then laugh and forgive him. Edward knew it would happen -- he could see it.

He didn't know what to make of it when they dragged him to the sentencing at first. It was good to be under the sun again without it being a torment -- made a nice change, Edward thought. But then they'd brought Mary and Anne out before the crowd and the world had gone dead silent around him. Anne's look of surprise, then horror. The naked fear on Mary's face for the briefest moment before the mask slammed back down, her eyes shuttering tight, her mouth a thin, grim line. Anne looked very fine in her coat and britches, Edward thought, but she had no flowers in her hair, and it seemed a great loss. Mary's hair was loose, her shirt open at the neck, the tattoo on her chest dark and triumphant. It seemed the two women had been sailing together after all. Edward would have dearly loved to see that.

Then a guard forced him down onto a bench, and Edward snapped back into himself. Torres and Rogers made their petty threats. Edward cursed at them, while some detached part of him noted that they made no real mention of the women being sentenced today; they spoke only of Edward, save for one mention of Caroline. It seemed the sentencing was to be an object lesson. Good. That was good. Edward didn't dare think what they might do to Anne and Mary if they knew...

"We're pregnant!" Mary shouted. Her eyes swept the crowd. "D'you all 'ear that?" She wasn't looking at him. Edward's blood turned to ice in his veins. Pregnant? By whom? When? How long? Had he -- oh, God, no, he couldn't think it. Anne was mouthing off to the bailiff. She never knew when to keep bloody quiet.

If Rogers and Torres said another word to him after that, Edward didn't hear it. There were gulls calling to each other in the air, high above the courtyard where he sat. He felt as though he were flying among them, watching Mary and Anne be lead away, watching the guards haul his own stumbling body from its seat and drag it back to the prison yard, watching himself be locked in a cage and hung from the gibbet until sunset. Mary and Anne were paraded by in irons some hours later. Edward felt nothing, not even the pain of his blistering skin. By the time they threw him back into his cell he was stumbling, insensible, too weak to stand unaided, everything in him replaced by one simple truth: he was out of time.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward broke out of his cell two days later. They always left him some time to heal, afraid to damage him too permanently, he supposed. That was a point in his favor. He'd been smug about it before; now, he was almost grateful. It gave him the time he needed to recuperate. And it worked out well: Edward was mobile again in time for Fitzy's shift.

Fitzwilliam Cooper was one of the night guards on Edward's block. He was none too bright and far too friendly for his own good; Edward had been cultivating him for some time. The guards were under orders not to talk to him, which was wise, but Fitzy did not have the good sense God gave a rock, and he was very fond of both dice and stories. Edward was quite good at the former, and knew many of the latter, so theirs was a fortuitous friendship indeed. It was from him that Edward had learned where the keys were kept -- the guards did not usually carry them, not with so many pickpockets in the clink. No, the keys to every cell were in the Warden's office, on the other end of the building. Fitzy was a veritable font of useful information. Edward was about to burn that bridge for good, which would have been a shame if he had any intention of staying on the inside. Fortunately for him, (rather less so for Fitzy,) he would be doing no such thing. Edward sat cross legged on the floor of his cell, playing idly with a bit of straw. It wouldn't be long now. Footfalls in the corridor perked him up almost immediately. 

"Hullo, Edward!" The unfortunate guard was delighted to see him.

"Ahoy, Fitz. How are you?" Edward said with an easy smile.

"I'm coming back tonight. You'll owe me a tale before morning," the young man said, hands in the pockets of his fine red coat. 

Edward chuckled. "You're down by two, lad."

"Third time's lucky, eh? That's what me gran says." Fitzy grinned at him boyishly.

"Say, I heard a rumor, mayhap you know more. I hear there's some women in here with us now, eh? That true?"

"That's what they say. I've not seen'em though." The guard shrugged.

Edward's heart sank. "Are they not on this block?" he asked.

"They're over that-away. Collier's lookout, not mine." Fitzy waved a careless hand off to his left, shrugging. Edward didn't know a Collier -- another guard, he supposed. Damn it all. Well, some direction was better than none.

"What do you care, Edward?" Fitzy asked -- curious, not suspicious.

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've even laid _eyes_ on a woman, lad?" Edward demanded. "Jesus, what I wouldn't do for two minutes with one of the girls from the Lily. Nay, _one_ minute."

Fitzy guffawed. "Not a long laster, are you?"

"You wouldn't be either after five months in the fucking clink!"

"I bet I could manage at least _three_ minutes," Fitzy said.

"I'd take that bet," Edward said. "Say, let's have that game."

"Right!" Fitzy was always enthusiastic about dice. He dug in his pocket, then stuck one trusting hand through the bars, offering a die to Edward.

"Toss you for first," he said.

Edward grabbed him by the wrist and broke his arm in a single blow. The young man screamed and fell to his knees; Edward surged forward and grabbed him by the hair, then slammed Fitzy's head into the bars of his cell, taking a moment to divest him of his sword before letting him go. The guard toppled back onto the stone floor, wheezing, blood all over his face. He curled around his shattered elbow and began to sob loudly. Perfect. 

The sword was standard British issue, not nearly as fine as the French blades Roberts had stolen from Edward some months before, but it would serve. It was a pity the young man didn't rank high enough to merit a pistol, too, but Edward could hardly blame anyone for not promoting such a fool. He stepped back from the bars, holding the hilt in a reverse grip to hide the blade behind his body, bounced on the balls of his feet a little, and settled in to wait. He didn't have to wait long.

"Cooper! What's all the -- bloody 'ell! _Jack! MacManus! Get Lane!"_ It was Haverhill, one of the cleverer guards in the prison. Bit of a stick up his arse, of course. Lane was the night Warden. This was going exceptionally well so far.

"What?" someone called from what sounded like another room.

"It's Kenway!" Haverhill bellowed. There were no further arguments; over the sound of the young man's sniveling, Edward could hear running feet. Haverhill dropped to his knees at Fitzy's side. "Can you 'ear me, boy?" he asked. Fitzy hiccupped miserably. Haverhill shot Edward a glare. It would have seemed unfair, this assumption that Edward had been the culprit, but they kept him well away from the other prisoners, afraid he'd foment another riot if he could talk to them too easily.

"He tripped!" Edward protested, blackly amused.

"They should've fuckin' 'ung you months ago," Haverhill snarled.

The jingle of keys heralded Lane's approach. "What's he done?" the Warden demanded.

"It's Cooper, sir, he -- "

"Good God!" Lane stopped short outside Edward's cell; MacManus nearly ran into him.

"Broke 'is arm, sir," Haverhill said.

"That miserable -- " Lane stopped himself, then blew a furious breath out through his nose. "Mr. MacManus, with me. We'll get Mr. Cooper to the infirmary. Mr. Haverhill, here." Lane tossed Haverhill a ring of keys. Damn it! Edward had hoped Lane would stay -- with the Warden dead, the guards would be disorganized -- 

"Put him in the stocks 'til morning. He'll be Warden Johnson's problem then. Mr. MacManus, get the lad up," Lane said. The man standing at his heels scrambled to comply. Haverhill rose with a scowl. It took them some moments to get Fitzy up off the floor, the way the lad was carrying on, but eventually they managed it. Haverhill waited until the sound of footsteps had faded away entirely, then jerked his head at someone Edward couldn't see. Ah: it was Brown, and another guard Edward didn't know. They came to stand with Haverhill, glaring daggers at Edward.

"I told that boy not to speak to you. I thought 'e'd listened. You bastard. 'E may never use that arm again." Haverhill's voice was thick with hatred. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with you, _pirate_ , and I don't bloody care. But I know what _will_ be wrong with you soon enough."

"Disobeying orders, eh?" Edward clicked his tongue.

"Oh, you'll go to the stocks in time," Haverhill said coldly. The guard Edward didn't know cracked his knuckles. None of them had pistols, which was probably for the best. Three against one, and Edward in his current condition, with nothing but a pair of ragged britches and a cheap sword standing between him and a brutal beating? Well, he'd taken worse odds and come out on top. Probably.

Haverhill turned the key in the lock. Edward waited. He opened the cell door. Edward waited. He stepped inside. Edward waited. Brown followed him in, the third guard close at his heels. Edward took a slow step back. Haverhill wrapped a hand around the hilt of his own sword, and Edward struck.

They hadn't known he was armed. Haverhill went down before he could do more than blink. Brown tried to stab him and Edward parried, leaping over Haverhill's twitching body to slam himself against the cell door, closing it. His sunburned skin protested with a flare of white-hot agony; Edward ignored it. Now they were stuck in here with _him_. Edward saw Brown realize it as he kicked the third guard in the back of the knee, sending him staggering into Brown with a cry. Brown had to get his blade out of the way hastily, fearing to impale his fellow guardsman, so Edward did that for him. Never let it be said he was uncharitable, he thought, yanking his blade out of the dying man's kidney. Brown shouted for help, slashing wildly at Edward, backing towards the rear wall of the cell. He had nowhere to run. Edward parried the next sweep of Brown's sword and then punched him in the stomach with his free hand. Brown doubled over, obligingly presenting his nose to Edward's knee, just begging him to break it, so Edward did, and then grabbed him by the hair and cut his throat for good measure. The blood felt uncommonly hot on his hands.

There was no time to catch his breath. Edward found the keys on Haverhill in but a moment with his Sense. He had to move quickly, find Mary and Anne before anyone realized what was happening and raised the alarm. There was absolutely no chance he could fight every guard in this place, not when they had pistols and muskets and he had only his own skin to protect him. He hoped to God he could find his friends quickly, get them out of their cells, and get moving. He hoped they weren't too impeded by the babes, if they were indeed pregnant as they'd claimed. He hoped Anne could fight. She was going to have to. Edward padded down the hallway, a sword in each hand, every nerve alight with the Sense, moving as quickly as he dared in the direction Fitzy had said he would find the women.

* * *

The first indication Mary had of Edward's presence was the faint gurgle of a dying man. She looked up, frowning. Mary and Anne had been locked in a cell in some faraway corner of the prison, out of sight of the other inmates, though not out of earshot. She had been prepared for far worse conditions than this, but it seemed someone had given orders that she and Anne were to be left alone; that was a mercy. She'd been worried about what would happen if she had to start killing guards.

A man fell to his knees at the end of the hall, blood pouring from his mouth, splattering dark across the white and scarlet of his coat. There was a blade protruding from his chest. Beside her, Anne sucked in a startled breath. The two women sat together in silence, watching. When Edward slipped around the corner, bloody to his elbows, Anne gasped, then hissed his name. His face went haggard with relief when he saw them, and he dashed to them on silent feet, dropping to his knees and laying his swords carefully on the ground as Mary and Anne scrambled to the bars, grabbing his shaking hands, heedless of the blood on them.

"Oh, God," Edward whispered. He looked exhausted. His face was burned an angry red; deep blisters had risen on his shoulders; some had already burst. It looked excruciating. The rest of his back was probably worse. He seemed to have protected his chest and arms from the sun as best he could the last time they left him out on the gibbet, but Mary could see the scars of older sunburns on his skin, warping and fading all of his tattoos.

"We thought y' were dead," Anne said, keeping her voice low. Edward shook his head wearily. He reached up like he wanted to touch Mary's cheek, but stopped himself; she pressed his palm to her face, not caring about the blood on his hands. Her throat was tight; her eyes burned.

"Edward, I -- " Mary stopped, swallowing hard. He shook his head again, firmly this time.

"Later. I have to get you out of here." And he rose, tugging his hands free and digging in the filthy remains of his sash.

"'Ow?" Mary asked. Edward came up with a ring of keys.

"I might -- I'm not sure. Let me try," he said.

None of the keys fit the padlock on the door of Anne and Mary's cell. Edward tried them all, then threw the ring to the ground, hissing a curse. Mary winced at the noise, but no guards came. Edward snatched up one of his swords off and wedged the blade through the shackle of the lock, trying to lever it apart and break the locking lug. It would have worked with an older or cheaper lock, but this one was solid iron, well-maintained, and much sturdier than the sword Edward was leaning on.

"Edward -- " Mary hissed. He pressed down harder. The blade snapped off with a ringing _crack_ and Mary flung her arm up to protect her face.

"Edward! It's no use!"

"Wait." He turned on his heel and vanished around the corner, and returned a moment later with a musket.

"Don't shoot it!" Mary whispered.

"I've no bullets," Edward replied. He tried the same trick again using the bayonet, as the barrel of the musket was far too big to fit through the shackle. The bayonet broke too, louder even than the sword, and fell to the floor of the cell with a clatter.

"Damn it, Edward!" Mary said.

"Stop!" Anne whispered fiercely.

Edward ignored them and reversed his grip on the musket, raising it above his head. Mary realized almost too late what he meant to do. She was at the door in a flash, wrapping her hand around the lock before Edward could slam the butt of the musket down on it with all his strength. He narrowly avoided breaking her fingers.

"Jesus, Mary!" he hissed.

"Y'can't break it. It's too strong," she told him.

"I have to try." His voice was hard, but there was a dull exhaustion under the resolve.

"No, y'don't. Damn it, Edward. Come 'ere." Mary reached for him. He stepped back. "Edward, please. Just for a moment."

"There's no time," he protested, but he knelt beside her anyway. Anne came to the door, reaching through the bars to take his hand again. Mary leaned her head against the bars and pulled Edward closer, her hand in his filthy hair, and kissed him fiercely. The metal was cold on her face.

"Listen to me. Y'need to leave. Break out of 'ere, go to -- "

"I won't leave you," Edward said flatly.

"You _must!_ Go to the Assassins, tell them where we are. You can come back for us, or they can send someone! You're out now, Edward. Y'can't waste time on freein' us! Go _now."_ Mary wanted nothing more than to be out of here, but Edward was right: there was no _time_.

"I can't abandon you two in here," Edward said.

"We'll be all right," Mary told him.

"She's right. We'll be fine," said Anne.

"Have they -- hurt you?" Edward asked.

"Not laid an 'and on us," Mary said.

"Really?" His voice was disbelieving.

"It's the babies," Anne said. "If not for them it'd be a free for all, I reckon." She sounded terribly calm about it, cynical even. Edward nodded jerkily.

"That... makes sense. I -- are you really -- ?"

"Yes," Anne said.

"Both of you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said again.

"I -- " Edward choked off, swallowed, then said, "I _can't_ leave you here like this."

"You've got to," Mary insisted.

"Mary, you should tell him," Anne said.

"We've no time!"

"Tell me what?"

"When y' thought he was dead it was all y' wanted, and now y' have him here and y' won't?" Anne said sharply.

"Shut it, Anne!" Mary hissed.

"Tell me what?" Edward asked again. Mary looked at him. She thought he probably already knew, or guessed. He must have. Mustn't he?

"God damn it, Anne," Mary said. "It's yours, Edward."

"What is?" Those blue eyes searched her face. He looked scared and miserable. It was a horrible combination, one she'd never seen on his face before. Mary grabbed his hand and pressed it to her growing belly, despising the gesture even as she felt it necessary.

"This child. You're the father," she said.

Edward shut his eyes and leaned his sunburnt forehead against the bars of the cell. Mary looked away so she didn't have to see the raw anguish in his face. His thumb rubbed gently against her stomach. She clenched her teeth so hard her ears began to ring. Edward drew a shuddering breath.

"What about yours, Anne?" he asked. His voice was thin.

"Mine's Jack's, I think," she said.

Edward made a little sound of acknowledgement in his throat.

"Y'must go," Mary said softly.

"No," Edward mumbled.

"You 'ave to. Damn it, Kenway! _Listen_ t' me!" Fury and panic threatened to choke her. "The longer you sit 'ere arguin', the more likely you'll be caught. You _'ave to go now!"_

"I won't leave you," Edward said.

"You'll come back for us!"

"I _won't_ leave you." She could hear the utter refusal in his voice. Edward withdrew his hand from her grip. Finally Mary dared to look at him: his eyes were overbright, but his face was hard, mouth tight, jaw clenched. 

"I'm going for the keys. I'll be back for you," he said, and rose, taking his one remaining sword with him.

"Edward, no! Edward, _please_ \-- " Mary grabbed for him, but he stepped nimbly back out of her reach, and raised a finger to his lips. The blood on his hands was drying. He had stayed far too long.

"Damn it, man!" Mary hissed, but he turned on his heel and dashed back down the hall the way he'd come.

" _Damn it!_ Fuckin' 'ell!" Mary smacked the back of her head against the wall, frustrated almost to tears. Edward might very well be her and Anne's one chance to get out of here alive with their children, and he was running _away_ from the exit. "Fuck!" He was going to get himself killed. How had he managed to get out of his cell? Would he be able to do it twice?

Mary didn't _want_ to raise his child without him. She'd never seen herself as a mother, had never planned to have children, but once she'd realized she was carrying Edward's babe under her heart, something had changed. She could have gotten rid of it, but she hadn't. Hadn't wanted to, hadn't even considered it seriously, and after all those years of talk about how she'd never let a man sire children on her and then leave her behind -- but it hadn't been like that, and Edward was... If he ever got his head out of his arse, she would -- she could --

"You've got blood on your face, love," Anne said softly, and wiped at Mary's cheek with her sleeve. Mary realized with a weary pang that she was crying.

"Shit," she muttered, swiping half-heartedly at the tears on her cheek.

"No, it's good. It's washin' the blood off," Anne said. Mary laughed bitterly.

"Glad I could 'elp," she said.

"He said he'd be back," Anne said. There was hope in her voice, but almost none in her eyes.

"What are we goin' t'do, Anne?" Mary asked. She meant, What am I going to do without him?

But all Anne said was, "Pray."

* * *

They heard the sounds of fighting soon enough, steel on steel, the crack of a pistol, men shouting. It was indistinct at first, but drew steadily closer. The noise was waking the prisoners and they yelled, jeered, banged on the bars of their cells; it was impossible to hear what was happening. Mary and Anne sat side by side against the wall. Anne's hand was clamped around Mary's like a vise, tight enough to hurt, but Mary hardly felt it. All her senses were turned towards the approaching noise, pushing into the Sense, trying desperately to see what was happening beyond that wall.

All Assassins trained with the Sense; some were better than others. Mary had only been at it a few years, and was told she was middling fair for the amount of practice she'd had. Edward was miles beyond her, but it came to him naturally of course. Mary could sharpen her hearing, could see greater distances, could bring up a ghost of that vital shimmer. Ah Tabai always said she needed practice and focus. Well, she had one of the two in spades right now.

She couldn't see him, but if she concentrated hard enough she could hear him panting. Edward's breath came ragged; he was in pain, she thought, more than he'd been in when he left not long ago. He breathed like he was moving, effortful, irregular -- parrying a blow, then another, striking out at someone, maybe? And then he made a horrible gasping noise. She almost felt him hit the ground, and listened as he lay there choking like a fish out of water. He was so close, she thought, just around the bend in the hall, lying there with the wind knocked out of him. Someone hit him again; Edward wheezed. Beside her, Anne flinched. He was close enough that she could hear with her ears as well as her Sense, Mary realized. Someone hit Edward again, and again. He was being beaten by several men, she thought. Mary tried with all her might to see him, and for a moment she thought she caught a flicker of gold, but then it was gone.

"We've got him, sir!" someone called.

Footsteps. Someone kicked Edward; Mary heard him grunt. "You bastard," another man spat.

"What shall we do with him, sir? The stocks, still?" the first man asked.

"The hell with the stocks. Give him thirty lashes." The second man's voice was hard with fury.

"But sir, the Governor said no more than -- "

"The Governor can go hang!" the man in charge bellowed. "He's killed ten men and maimed two more! Thirty fucking lashes, MacManus, and break his goddamned legs when you're done. This is _never_ going to happen again." He took a deep breath, then went on, his voice noticeably steadier: "Is that understood?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yes sir." MacManus sounded thoroughly cowed. Anne had her hands clamped over her mouth; her eyes were huge with horror. Thirty lashes with what? Mary wondered distantly. After a certain point, did it even matter?

She got a good view of two guards dragging Edward between them; he shone gold in her eyes. He could barely walk, struggling to keep his feet under him, but they frog-marched him along, not caring.

"Twenty reales says he doesn't last the week," one of the guards said. The other snorted.

"I'll not take that bet. He's done for."

And then they vanished around the next corner.

"Oh, Jesus," Anne whispered.

"Why didn't he listen to me? He never fucking listens to me! That stupid bastard!" Mary put her face in her hands. "Damn it! _Damn_ it."

"Do y' think he'll die?" Anne asked, her voice small.

"I don't know," Mary said.

They were gone a long time. Mary listened hard for Edward, but the prison's walls were thick and for awhile she heard nothing. She supposed that was a mercy of a sort, and was about to give up when she heard him again, out at the edge of her Sense. Edward was panting with a little voice behind each breath, whimpering almost. She'd never known him to respond that way to pain. He must have been nigh on insensible with it. Edward grunted -- had he been struck? No, dropped on the ground, she thought. Perhaps they'd put him back in his cell? But then he grunted again. Someone had certainly hit him that time. There was a pause, filled only with his ragged breathing, and then the assailant struck again, and there was a tremendous _pop-pop_ noise, hideously loud, and Edward screamed. Mary jerked. Beside her, Anne twitched in surprise.

"What is it?" Anne asked, worried.

They hit Edward again, striking true on the first try this time with a horrible _crunch_. He screamed again, all rough at the edges, his voice starting to go. Mary had never heard Edward scream before. He was always so fucking stoic; he'd get shot and then swagger around and pretend to be annoyed about it to make himself look tough, the bastard. She'd pulled a bullet out of him once and he'd sat there and cursed his way through it, gripping the back of a chair 'til his knuckles were white, but holding perfectly still for her. He was not a man who screamed.

"They broke 'is legs," Mary whispered through numb lips.

"Did -- you sensed it?" Anne asked.

"Aye. I can 'ear 'im," Mary said.

"Oh, God. Can y' stop listenin', love?"

"I can't leave 'im," Mary mumbled. Edward was being dragged somewhere, now. She could hear him shouting with the pain.

"You're cryin', love. Let be," Anne insisted, but Mary only shook her head.

She listened for a long time, long after Edward had faded from her Sense entirely. It was weeks before she gave up on ever hearing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole sequence in the prison was such a huge, glaring missed opportunity. Imagine the amount of character development they could have done with one lousy cutscene! Argh


End file.
